I came across this publication and I realised its still as applicable now as it was then. Our children are still being fed to the wolves, their minds perverted by the happenings and non-happenings about them (Trust me, they are wolves alright, wolves in different attires masking their true identities and intent) some are fed albeit unconsciously – sexual abuse from family members and friends, physical and emotional abuse from their teachers in school, emotional abuse from sunday school teachers, bullying from peers while some are very deliberately fed (child trafficking, child prostitution, CHILD MARRIAGE! Arrrgghhh *still pissed*).
Let us stand together and put an end to this menace, one step at a time, one child at a time!
Do not be too busy to see that your child is afraid, do not be too busy to see that your child has withdrawn. Pay attention to the details…the changes or absence of changes in your child, in that child.
Protect the leaders of our tomorrow, that we might have a tomorrow to look foward to.
Our tomorrow concerns all of us, and your child alone doesn’t cut tomorrow for us. Take care of the next child for US.
Read and be inspired!
ONE LONG NIGHT
It was dark and the rain poured angrily.
The boy looked out of the shed; he couldn’t see much, it was all blurred by the rain.
He looked at the sky; he couldn’t make out any stars. He loved it when the sky had so many stars in it.
He was tired and hungry.
Drenched in rain water, he shivered violently and hugged his lean, small frame to keep warm.
The ground beside him bore the burden of the tray containing the fried yam he was supposed to be selling, it was ruined now. The tray, half filled with water. The yams were water logged. He felt his pockets and heaved a sigh of relief when he felt the small bundle … the money was still in place. He was afraid that he had lost it in the commotion to find a place to hide from the rain.
His belly growled furiously.
He picked up one water logged piece of yam, wiped its surface with his shirt and examined it. It seemed good to eat …
He looked around at the deserted market. It was all rain, water and mud. Most of the sheds were falling apart. It would have been fun playing in it. But the last thing he wanted to do right now was play in the rain. A nice warm bed was much more welcome.
The wind raved and ranted, he could almost here his father’s voice in it threatening to kill him if he didn’t come home immediately.
Rain poured into the shed. It was pointless remaining, but he couldn’t leave.
He took off his shirt, squeezed hard and put back on.
The rain poured relentlessly.
The boy didn’t seem worried about getting home, he was too far away from home anyway … finding somewhere to spend the night usually wasn’t a problem … he was used to sleeping out every now and then.
He leaned against one of the poles holding up the roof of the shed … his shivers suddenly got worse when a gust of wind blew.
He felt like crying … he was so tired … and so cold … he’d have given anything for a cup of something warm … a warm bed …
He kept hoping the rain would stop soon.
He thought of home … he shivered again… nah… he didn’t want to go home.
Suddenly anywhere was better than home. Home was sad. Home was a jobless drunkard father and a frustrated overworked mother, a pregnant 16 year old half sister, and 3 half brothers he hated in a dreary one room apartment.
Running away was so appealing … but he wasn’t going without his mother. The others could die for all he cared.
They didn’t exist in his world, at least not anymore. He thought of what he would do when he finally grew up and started to make a lot of money. He would go far away with his mother, to a place where there are trees, flowers and pretty birds … and every morning he would give a flower to his mother.
The splashing water woke him up. The rain had stopped. Someone was coming.
‘Towards the shed?’
He couldn’t tell. He was shivering hard, cold bursts of wind hitting hard against his lean frame. The footsteps in the water got closer. He crouched, hiding as silently as he could. His treacherous heart was beating so hard … he was afraid it would betray him. He almost fainted from relief when sound passed and moved on.
He had to leave this place.
He emptied the contents of the tray into the gutter.
The streets were deserted.
It was pitch black… and quiet save for the wind …
He looked left and right and started to walk briskly away from the shed.
“Hey!!!”
He froze
“You there!!! Come here!!!” the words were said in Yoruba. It was the voice of a man…harsh and terrifying.
He turned around. He couldn’t see anybody.
He turned and started running … he heard footsteps behind him quickly catching up with him.
He burst out onto the main road … not looking left or right he continued running.
“Crash!!!”
The car smashed into him from the side … knocked him over.
He screamed. The car didn’t stop; it dragged him along the road a few meters and then it stopped.
It all happened so fast.
The boy laid on the muddy ground … he spat out bloodied mud.
He tried to move, it was impossible. He couldn’t feel his limbs. He couldn’t breathe well. He felt faint.
He heard the doors to the car open and close.
He sighed. “Someone to finally get him out of the mud.” He thought with relief.
He heard two voices. Male and female.
“He’s dead!” it was the female.
“We can’t be too sure…”
“He’s dead!” It was almost a shriek. “Let’s get out of here!”
“We can’t just leave him!” the man was almost shouting back.
The boy tried to talk; he couldn’t find the strength to do so. He was choking on his own blood. There was mud in his mouth.
“Look! There’s going to be a crowd soon, and then what? We’d be handed over to the police, or worse, burned! No way! Kola, please get into the car. Someone else will take care of this.”
The man was hesitant. He looked closely at the figure lying on the road. ‘It was just a kid’ he thought. ‘What is a kid doing out here this late?’
He heard the door to the car close as his wife entered.
‘Probably a ploy by robbers…’ he shivered. ‘I better get the hell out of here.’
The man got into the car, started it and drove off.
The boy couldn’t see much, something was in his eyes; he couldn’t tell if it was the mud or blood.
And then he heard foot steps again. He felt hands reach into his pockets roughly … searching…
“No … no … no … please … it’s for mother … please I have to get all that money to my mother …
The words didn’t come out …
He spat out blood and then he started coughing … more blood.
The searching stopped … he heard footsteps depart.
He was weak … he was out of breath … tears poured out …
He felt so alone, so cold, so tired … it was suddenly so quiet … he could hear the wind as if in a shell placed over his ears … then he heard music … far away … slow and mournful.
He couldn’t think clearly anymore, he didn’t care anymore, not about the mud, not about rain, not about the cold or the money … he just wanted to sleep …
It was supposed to be his birthday
Those were his last thoughts … his birthday.
He was going to be ten … today.
It was going to be special.
He was going to get a birthday gift for the first time … from his mother.
“…far away, to a place where there are trees, flowers and pretty birds…”
He closed his eyes.
“…where there are trees, flowers and pretty birds…”
‘O God.
I am so cold.
Please make me warm.
Please.
I would be a good boy.
Tell my mother I am fine, she shouldn’t worry about me.
Tell her I would be home soon, with a lot of money.
And then, she wouldn’t have to cry any more… …’
Road traffic accidents, domestic violence, disease, malnutrition … name it.
Our Children die every day.
Our world can be a better place, a safer place for the kids … our kids.
Help make the world a better place. Help secure our future.
©Dr. Onadipe
All rights reserved
Culled from a publication in the Child-Health Edition of Dokita (2009)
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